


This is Where We Broke Up

by hopingforaword



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Ernst POV, M/M, Weird POV, bisexual Hanschen, but its like addressed to Hanschen? like "you" are Hanschen, but sad ending, first person POV, gay Ernst, happy for a while, looks like a coffee shop au but i promise tis not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-10-06 14:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10336970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopingforaword/pseuds/hopingforaword
Summary: “It’s no problem, especially when the person who took my coffee is as beautiful as you.” I remember my face turned scarlet as you offered your hand and I thought the wrong person was calling the other beautiful because I’d never seen someone who looked so much like they’d accidentally stepped off a museum pedestal and ended up in a Starbucks three blocks from my dorm as you did.





	1. Meet Cute

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this fucking buzzfeed video](https://www.buzzfeed.com/shanewhitaker/this-is-where-we-broke-up?utm_term=.tj0Epm1eA#.etNbaGMWy). It broke my heart so in response I will break yours :)

I met you at a Starbucks near campus sophomore year. The barista called my name seconds after yours and I walked up to the counter and accidentally picked up your drink because we ordered the same thing, a Grande Iced Caramel Mocha with extra caramel.

“Ernst?” I jumped when you said my name and you laughed at my nervousness. “Sorry, but that’s my coffee. This one’s yours.”

“Oh. Oh! Sorry.” I took the coffee you were holding and handed you yours, silently cursing myself for being such an awkward person. 

“It’s no problem, especially when the person who took my coffee is as beautiful as you.” I remember my face turned scarlet as you offered your hand and I thought the wrong person was calling the other beautiful because I’d never seen someone who looked so much like they’d accidentally stepped off a museum pedestal and ended up in a Starbucks three blocks from my dorm as you did. “I’m Hans Rilow. My friends call me Hänschen, or Hänsi sometimes, but you can call me whenever you want.”

“Ernst Robel,” I said finally taking your hand. I still couldn’t quite believe you were talking to me, let alone flirting with me. 

You pulled a piece of paper out of your pocket and handed it to me and holy shit you had business cards and I still couldn’t always remember to eat lunch. “I have spin class early on the weekends and sometimes I’m busy Thursday nights but other than that I’m probably free whenever. So call me, Ernst Robel.” You winked and walked out of the Starbucks, leaving me standing there holding my Frappucino wondering if maybe what you did on some Thursday nights was fly, because the probability of you being an angel was about the same as the probability of you having actually just talked to me.

 

We got dinner the next Friday night. I tried to look good, I really did. But it’s hard to look put together when all your jeans have some amount of paint splatter on them and you’ve been wearing the same shirts since junior year of high school. I hadn’t really cared about looking nice until I met you, all slacks and dark button ups and black loafers like the kind my dad wore. 

I showed up two minutes early to the restaurant, and you were already standing outside. I wanted to say something smart, something to make up for the fact that the only things I’d said to you in person were an apology for taking your coffee and my name, and the fact that I was wearing my roommate’s jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and gray sneakers while you were wearing black slacks and a blue button up that almost matched your eyes, and the fact that my hair looked like I just crawled out of bed while yours was slick and beautiful, and to preemptively make up for whatever stupid things I would say while we ate but instead I just said, “Your shirt matches your eyes.”

I felt my cheeks burn scarlet but you smiled and said, “I’d guess you’re an art student?” I nodded and you laughed a little, not insincerely, just a small laugh, and ushered me into the restaurant.

I didn’t embarrass myself as much as I thought I would. I managed to talk to you about school (you were in pre-law, and I wondered how someone smart enough to be getting straight As in pre-law was even vaguely interested in an art student like me), your friends (three friends from your high school, Melchior, Wendla, and Ilse, went to the same college as us), my friends (turned out my roommate, Moritz, was dating Melchior. We both said, “Small world,” and laughed. I laughed awkwardly, you laughed beautifully.), and whether or not we wanted to get together again (we did, and for that I thanked God). 

We walked together, and your apartment was closer to the restaurant than my dorm. Just the fact that you had an apartment, all to yourself, made me wonder how much different our lives really were, and how much more together you were than me. You stopped outside your building and said, “This is my place.” There was a pause where I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t been on a date since high school and the rules were probably different now. Should I kiss you? Promise to call? Or text? But you saved me from my awkwardness when you said, “Do you want to come in?”

My mother’s voice was screaming in my head, “You barely know him! He could be a serial killer!” But you were beautiful and I really liked you and as an artist, I was (and still am) a sucker for beautiful things. I followed you in.

As we climbed the stairs to your fourth floor apartment, I thought about all the social rules I was probably breaking. You weren’t supposed to sleep with people until the third date at least, you were supposed to be able to have a conversation, you might want to tell the other person that you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. I ignored all this, instead watching your muscles move under your shirt as you walked up the stairs. We reached the fourth floor and you said, “Sorry about the walk up,” as you put your key in the door. 

I was a little out of breath but I said, “It’s worth it,” in a lame attempt to be smooth, but also being entirely honest. You turned around, your eyes wide, and I wondered if maybe that was too forward or it sounded like I was expecting something, and you just stepped forward and kissed me.

God, that kiss.

I’d kissed people before, sure. Not a lot. Not more than I could count on one hand. But never had my heart swooped as it did the first time you kissed me. You had to lean up a little, because I’m a little too tall and gangly, and I wrapped my arms around you, pulling you in so I never had to let go. Finally you pulled back and said, “We should go inside.” I smiled and you pulled me in by my wrist, slamming the door shut behind me.

You led me to your couch and sat down softly, folding your legs up under you and I wondered at how it was possible that someone could be as beautiful and hot and cute as you were. As you are. I sat down, feet firmly planted on the floor, and leaned in to kiss you again. You smashed our mouths together, hands flying up into my hair and I leaned back a little just from the force of it. You laughed a little and pushed me back farther. I laid down on the pillows at the end of your couch (You had pillows on a couch! Sometimes I forgot to wash my sheets and you had a couch!) and swung my legs up onto the couch. You tried to lean back a little but I pulled you in by your beautiful blonde hair and you gasped into my mouth. Quietly, you asked, “Can I put my leg over you?” and I thought it was so amazingly perfect that you asked and I looked into your beautiful eyes, shining blue with lust but also with care. I smiled and nodded, and then you were sitting on my hips and I had a heart-stopping moment of,  _ Holy shit, this is all just a dream. _ But you leaned in again and kissed me and I was pulling at your shirt and you were pulling at mine and then we were shirtless and I’m pretty sure I was moaning embarrassingly loudly considering we were still only making out but you didn’t care and you were leaving a hickey that was probably the size of my fist and I couldn’t have cared less. I felt one of your hands on my stomach (which I was acutely aware was not half as toned as yours) and then on my thigh and then on the bulge between my legs that I was also acutely aware of and I felt your fingers move before you abruptly sat up and moved off of me and said, “No. No.”

“Did–Did I do something wrong?” I whispered. I couldn’t bear even the thought that I’d already messed something up with you within less than an hour of our first date.

“No, absolutely not Ernst,” and even then I loved just the sound of my name in your beautiful voice. “I just… I’ve done this wrong so many times with so many people but I care about you and I want to do it right for you.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“It means I’m going to do this right. Take you out at least twice more before I try to get in your pants. Get to know you for real. Let my guard down a little and let myself trust you, because you seem like the kind of person I could really trust.”

“How do you know that? Come to think of it, how’d you even know I liked guys in the coffee shop?” I asked, sitting up. I’d grown up Catholic, and even years after I’d accepted myself I still worried that the thing that betrayed my upbring the most about me was written clearly in my face. 

You shrugged and smiled. “I didn’t. I figured you wouldn’t call if you weren’t interested, but if you were I’d have a chance.” I was baffled by how confident you were. I’d never been confident, and I guess something of this bafflement was shown in my expression because you said, “Don’t tell me you’ve never flirted with someone you weren’t sure about.”

I shrugged and looked away when I said, “I’ve never really flirted first. I was always too anxious. So when guys would flirt with me I’d flirt back, but I’d never be the first one.”

“I’m always the first one.”

I laughed a little. “I can tell. You’re just… that kind of person.” You tensed up immediately after I said that. “What? What’s wrong?”

“What kind of person?” There was fear and danger laced in your voice. I was so scared of saying the wrong thing.

“Confident and beautiful, the two most important things when flirting with someone,” I said, almost like a question, but that didn’t stop you from smiling. “What did you think I was going to say?”

You shrugged, but I could see some fear still in your eyes. “Just… my friends always joke about me being a slut but they’re not really joking so I thought you’d say something like that.”

“Never!” I almost screamed. I wish I’d stuck to that. I almost wish you hadn’t told me that, so I didn’t even vaguely connect the word with you. “So, if we’re not going to do anything, should I just go back to my dorm?”

“If you want to,” you said with a smile and a half-shrug. “I’m just going to watch stuff on Netflix, so you’re welcome to stay.”

I moved into the middle of your couch, smiling, and hesitantly pulled you next to me. You leaned into my shoulder and I felt electricity shoot up my spine as you paged through Netflix, selecting something I don’t really remember.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember you waking me up. Warm hands on my shoulders and dark blue eyes looking into mine. “Ernst?”

“Yeah?” I said, still dazed from my nap and your presence. “What time is it?”

“11:30.” It was only then that I realized you were only in your boxers and my heart started pounding a little faster. “You’re more than welcome to stay over. No pressure but I’d enjoy it.”

I smiled, probably still half asleep, and against my better judgement I said yes. You led me gently to your room and tugged off my shoes and my roommate’s jeans when I collapsed on your mattress. “These jeans don’t really fit you,” you whispered, jokingly.

“They’re my roommate’s,” I muttered into your pillow that smelled like mint and roses and cinnamon and your hair, “He’s built differently.”

“Clearly,” you said, sitting next to me on the bed and rubbing my back, “What, did you forget that you had a hot date when you put all your pants in the laundry?”

“No,” I said, finally turning onto my back and looking at you, “I wanted to impress you.”

“You don't have to impress me,” you said, smiling despite yourself, “but wearing clothes that fit you might impress me a little more.” I must've looked shocked because you said, “Am I the first person to compliment you or something?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

You laughed as you laid down next to me, pulling the sheet over both of us. “Well, the rest of the world must not have been paying attention.”

I still couldn't believe my luck as you let me curl up into your side. And I prayed that while I was asleep my subconscious would forget you were next to me. 


	2. First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this walks the line between mature and explicit but to be safe i marked it explicit  
> enjoy :)

A month later, and it was our third “real date,” not counting the seemingly endless early coffees and quick lunches and that one time we made out in an empty lecture hall. Needless to say, I was still nervous, but more because of what you had implied on our first date than because of you. I was still nervous because of you, but you had proved that you could trust me. I had to try to trust you.

The third date started just like the previous two. We met at a restaurant and I was just almost late. We talked about school and friends and my art and I tried not to be awkward and you assured me I wasn't. We walked to your apartment and you almost whispered, “Do you want to come in?”

I smiled and said, “Absolutely.”

If we'd gone any faster up the stairs we would have flown. We almost forgot to go inside, you pushing me up against your apartment door with your hands and your mouth and holy crap I couldn’t believe it was really happening we were really going to sleep together. You fumbled with the door with one hand, still holding me with the other and kissing me and I wondered how many other boys and girls you must've done this with to be able to make me feel like this with just your mouth and  _ still _ manage to be able to open a lock. The door pushed open and I fell backwards into your apartment. You followed me in, pushing the door shut and pushing me back up against it. “Is this okay?” you whispered in my ear, your breath hot and I could feel my heart racing. 

“Of course,” I whispered back breathlessly. Your long beautiful fingers tangled in my hair and you pressed your mouth against that soft spot just under my jaw. My head tipped back almost out of my control and you kissed a line from the collar of my shirt to my lips and back. My fingers started fiddling with the buttons of your shirt in a moment that you and I both know was uncharacteristically bold for me. You smiled at me, and undid the buttons, letting me press my palms to your chest before I pushed your shirt off.

My shirt joined yours on the floor just inside the door, and our shoes ended up by the couch, and our pants were somewhere between the couch and the entrance to the kitchen, and our socks were wiggled unceremoniously onto the floor at the edge of your bed as you pushed me back into your mattress. “God Ernst,” you breathed into my ear as you laid down on top of me, “You’re amazing.”

“You’re amazing too,” I added, feeling my cheeks burn and blood rush to my groin at your compliments. “And beautiful.” I pulled you back in for a kiss. “And sexy.” This time, I didn’t let you leave the kiss. I wanted to touch every inch of your body, just in case I never got to do it again. Never in my life had I experienced anything as amazing as that moment. 

You managed to pull out of my grasp and started kissing your way down my body. Even from the very beginning, it was your mouth that did me in every time. Your smirks, your smiles, your words, your kisses, your blowjobs: everything you did with your mouth was perfect. I felt your lips drag on my neck and across my chest, and I gasped when you sucked on my nipple. “Are you alright?” you asked immediately, sitting up, your look of worry only slightly diminished by your pupils that seemed to overshadow your irises. 

“Yes,” I breathed, “Do that again.” 

You smiled, a sexy devilish smile, and returned your lips to my body, sucking on my nipples, kissing my stomach, licking my stomach, until you reached the waistband of my boxers. You laid a hand on my boner and I felt a wave of embarrassment crash over me. Somewhere in all our conversations I’d forgotten to mention that the farthest I’d gone with another person was making out. You smiled at me again, an almost wolfish smile, then pushed down my boxers and took my whole dick into your mouth.

I practically screamed.

I could write sonnets about your mouth. Well, I probably couldn’t, but if anyone looked through my sketchbook from when we were dating, they’d see I was very in love with your mouth. If I hadn’t been so focused on doing it right and not embarrassing myself, I’d probably be able to describe the things you were doing. Or maybe not. All I could really register was how beautiful you were always and how magnificent you still looked with your mouth on my dick. I whispered, so quietly I was afraid you wouldn’t hear me, “Hänschen, I’m close.” 

You pulled off and wiped some spit on the back of your hand, grinning as you brought your lips back to mine. You whispered in my ear, rolling your hips against mine to convey your interest, “What do you want to do now?”

“It’d be great,” I said, surprising myself with my coherence, “if you could fuck me.”

You nodded and said, “Yeah, that would be pretty great.” You reached over me and pulled a condom and lube out of a drawer and I thanked God that we hadn’t done this at my dorm because I didn’t have condoms or lube and you would’ve known why. 

I must’ve taken a sharp intake of breath or done something else to indicate fear, because you stopped suddenly and looked at me, head tilted to one side. “Are you okay?” I nodded. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never…” You smiled as I trailed off.

“It would be an honor to be your first, Ernst Robel.” You were slow and gentle as you leaned in to kiss me again, before you sat back and pulled my boxers completely off my legs. “Are you sure about this? You could top, or I could suck you off or–”

“Hänschen, I want you. Please.”

You smiled devilishly. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” You cracked open the bottle of lube and massaged some into your hand before you pressed one finger gently into me. It wasn’t painful or unpleasant just… different. New. 

Slowly, delicately you opened me up, the way you had opened your life up to me. You occasionally stroked my prostate, not enough that I would come, but enough to keep me excited. After a long silence, you sat back on your heels.

“Are you ready?”

I nodded, and you discarded your own boxers, rolled on a condom, coated yourself in lube and gently, slowly slipped in.

I can’t describe it. I know I’ve already butchered the sanctity, the beauty, the passion, the love by writing about it when I know I can’t write, but I refuse to even attempt to describe how perfect you felt inside me, how great it was to know I made you make those noises, how anyone feels right before an orgasm, how beautiful you looked when you came.

“Fuck,” I whispered as you stood up to walk towards your bathroom.

“We already did, Ernst,” you said as you walked away and I could imagine the smirk on your beautiful face. I lay there, staring at your ceiling and wondering how I got so goddamn lucky until you returned with a washcloth. You wiped off my stomach, smiling, before climbing back into bed next to me. I wrapped my arms around you and your head fell so naturally into the space between my shoulder and neck that I could imagine we’d been doing this forever.

“I’m not usually a cuddly person,” you said quietly, your voice breaking through the quiet.

“I like it.”

“Was it okay?”

“The sex?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, “I mean, it was your first time. Was it good?”

I laughed until you looked at me, brow furrowed and biting his lip. “Oh, I thought you were kidding. Hänschen, you’re like a walking wet dream. It was amazing.” I paused, not sure if I should say what I was thinking. “Not that I have much to compare to.”

“Had you never done anything?” 

“I mean, I’d made out with guys. It was hard. The area that I’m from, a lot of people are religious and so is my family and so was I. When I figured out that I was never going to be interested in girls, I went to a really dark place. By the time I finally really accepted it, I was already a senior and there weren’t many other gay guys so,” I shrugged, “No experience.”

You turned over onto your arms and looked at me. “You should have said something.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was a loser,” I whispered.

“Ernie, I’d never think you’re a loser,” you murmured, leaning forward, “I would’ve gone slower if I knew I was having the honor of being your first for most things. I would’ve made it better.” You kissed me, and the world exploded into red and gray bursts that I tried to capture in my head to paint later.

“I don’t know if I could’ve handled any better,” I laughed, pulling you against my chest. You laid down, laughing.

“Are you going to stay?” You sounded so unsure, so prepared for me to leave, that I wished you’d tell me who messed you up. I ignored it, not wanting to push anything and risk losing you.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“I have to meet Melchior at noon tomorrow, but we could find a fun way to spend the morning if you want.”

I smiled. “I’d love that. Goodnight, Hänschen.”

You reached over to the bedside table and clicked off the light before pulling up the covers and curling back against me. “Goodnight, Ernst.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3 coming on december 6th!

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up at [hopingforaword.tumblr.com](hopingforaword.tumblr.com)


End file.
